


Proper Pirates Hate Domesticity

by teacup_tyrant



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Gen, Parody, RuggedPirate!Vane, Snarky!Flint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 18:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8171480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacup_tyrant/pseuds/teacup_tyrant
Summary: “Would you like a cup of... tea?” Flint asked awkwardly.
“Absolutely not. Tea is for the British.”
Flint finds out just how much Charles Vane hates domesticity. Parody of the opening scene of episode 3.8.





	

Ping.

Ping ping.

Pingpingpingping-

“If you don't stop hitting that clavichord, I will shoot you myself.”

For once, Charles Vane obliged Captain Flint without a fight and ceased banging on the clavichord's keys. It was a strange, sinister sounding instrument anyway. Nothing like the chipper sound of a fiddle or a fife he was used to hearing among the men of his crew.

The pirates were momentarily landlocked at Flint's house in the interior. Anne Bonny had retreated into some dark corner of the house, ever the silent character, always half hidden beneath her hat. Billy Bones had chosen to stay outside and keep watch for the arrival of Featherstone's man. Being out in the blazing, Caribbean sun seemed much more agreeable to him than waiting in uncomfortable silence with the two captains. Vane and Flint, however, remained in the kitchen for the moment. Perhaps this was so they could each keep a watchful eye on the other.

“Don't know how anyone would have to patience to learn to play that thing,” Vane mused, side-eyeing the clavichord.

“You don't enjoy music?” Flint asked.

“Oh, I enjoy sea shanties as much as the next sailor. I just wouldn't want to put in the time and effort to play them myself.”

“Someone has to,” Flint pointed out.

“As long as it's not me,” Vane responded and returned to the dining area. 

“Would you like a cup of... tea?” Flint asked awkwardly. Usually Miranda was the one to greet guests. Her mannerisms where much more refined that his own. 

“Absolutely not. Tea is for the British.”

“The British Navy drinks grog on board same as us, you know. Water too, for that matter.”

“Bastard,” Vane grumbled, leaning against the table and crossing his arms. 

Flint ignored him and started to ready a kettle anyway. Miranda had always made him tea when he arrived. It was certainly a comforting feeling with a touch of home about it. And it reminded him of her. So by God, he was going to make tea and Vane would have to deal with it. He made a show of steeping the tea leaves, pouring the brew into one of the dainty teacups, and setting it before Vane with a flourish. 

Vane glared at him.

But Flint ignored him still and took a sip out of his own cup. It was a little bitter; he must have steeped the leaves for too long. It wasn't as good as Miranda made, but it was passable. 

Vane stared at the teacup, apparently fighting some sort of internal battle, for a good thirty seconds before he picked it up and took a sip.

“Pinkies out, Charles,” Flint instructed mockingly.

“Fuck you, Flint.”

-

“Well...” Flint started awkwardly after the two had finished their pot of tea in silence, “I think I'll pick out a book from my collection to pass the time. Would you care for something to read?”

“I can't read,” Vane stated matter-of-factually and without a shred of embarrassment. “Never had the will to learn. I'm fond of picture books though. Do you have any of those?”

“Erm, I doubt it. Miranda and myself never had any children about the house-”

Vane glowered.

“-but I'll see what I can find. A book on nautical topics might be interesting for you. They usually have drawings and diagrams and all that.”

With a smirk, Flint sauntered down the hall and disappeared into a room. Vane was acutely aware that he was being made fun of. However, it was coming from a man who drank tea out of flowered china teacups. He snorted and leaned back in his chair, kicking his feet up to rest on the table.

Flint returned a few minutes later. He had a copy of Phèdre for himself and a thick volume about nautical astronomy for Vane. At least the illiterate man could understand the charts. Maybe. He dropped it on the table and shoved Vane's feet to the ground. “Will this do?”

“I suppose so,” Vane responded as he flipped through a few of the pages. Then he stood up and stretched. “Point me towards my hammock and I'll read it there.”

Flint blinked. “Well, the guest room is in the back of the house.”

“Why would I need a room? Beds are idiotic. Just give me a hammock and point me towards two palms that are roughly 9 feet apart.”

“For Christ sake, aren't you taking this a little too far? So you don't want a dutiful housewife bringing you breakfast in bed. Fine. That doesn't mean you can't live in a house like a normal person when the situation arises.”

“I am not a normal person.”

“Yes, I'm beginning to see that.”

“You know how I hate domestic life. All the politeness and formality and cushy living. It's not for me. Just give me a leaky ship and some battered sails and that's all the comfort I need.”

“Whatever floats your boat, Charles.”

“Floats. Yes, exactly what I mean.”

-

Finally, Billy barged in through the door with an announcement that a rider was approaching, ending any other attempt at small talk and civility Flint would have to make. 

Flint silently thanked God for delivering him from the antics of Proper Pirate Charles Vane.

**Author's Note:**

> I used to be such a fan of parodies back in the day at FFN. Do people even write one-shot parodies anymore? Huh.
> 
> Special shout-out to the ladies of the FathomsDeep podcast for pointing out the importance of when Charles Vane calls someone a “Proper Pirate.”
> 
> Thanks for reading. :)


End file.
